


The Ringbearer

by TNietzsche12



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TNietzsche12/pseuds/TNietzsche12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, a long time ago, Bilbo Baggins had only wanted one thing- invisibility. He wanted to sneak past the old gaffers in the marketplace that milled around the fruits, tiptoe around the gossipers making their daily rounds through Hobbiton, searching for something to chat about.</p><p>But after the Fell Winter claimed his father’s life, and heartsickness eventually claimed his mother’s, his wish faded from the forefront, to be replaced with the desire to move on and be the proper Baggins of Bag End he was meant to be. Until thirteen dwarves came knocking on his door, with one who would eventually steal his heart the way he stole the Ring, which so generously granted him with his first true wish.</p><p>But now the question is, will he be able to see that invisibility is not worth what it once was, and that he no longer needs it to be free?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ringbearer

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter will hopefully be up before April, but be warned: I am leaving for Spain soon, so no promises. And I don't know why it shows up with 1/1 chapters instead of 1/? but this is most definitely a MULTI-CHAPTERED FIC AND NOT YET COMPLETE. 
> 
> Also, this is my first foray into this fandom, having only recently becoming acquainted with it, so if you have any tips on characterization, it'd be welcomed! But do remember that Bilbo is about 25 at this point, and he is not how he is when the events of the book and movies start.

Of all the things one could wish for, what Bilbo Baggins had wished for most was invisibility.

 

Most other hobbits wished for forever-plentiful harvests, the feeling of having enough food in their soft bellies, and blossoming gardens. Some, but mostly his Tookish cousins, wished for flight. But only so they could wander a little further into the woods and still be back for supper. And after joking around and tripping over tree roots, what they wished for was the same as everyone else.

 

He wanted to be able to sneak past the old gaffers in the marketplace that milled around the fruits, tiptoe around the gossipers making their daily rounds through Hobbiton, searching for something to chat about. Most of the time, their subject was Bilbo’s own mother, Belladonna. A Took through and through, but a Baggins in name now, she garnered attention even from the swish of a blue-colored skirt rather than green, or one mention of anything further than Bree. There was always talk of taming her, as one would the tangles in their hair. But as she always told Bilbo and her husband, Bungo, one can brush out the snarls, but that doesn’t mean their hair won’t still be curly, although this saying was a bit weak because all hobbits had curly hair, and most were not at all like Belladonna Baggins, née Took.

 

She was a traveling sort, and she managed to drag Bungo out into the world as well, even before their marriage. Bilbo loved hearing stories of them from the bartenders in Bree and the Rangers that traveled into the Shire, only to leave at first light.

 

(Although if it were after particularly arduous journey, they might perhaps even stay for first and second breakfast, rarely until elevensies, and never for luncheon.)

 

She was what Bilbo aspired to be- adventurous and worldly, well-read and free. Not that his father wasn’t a good model, but he and Bungo were too alike- fussy, proper, and never willing to bite off more than they could chew. Belladonna was the brave one, and she wanted the world to see her for that. Bilbo wanted to do great things as well, such as see the waterfalls of Rivendell that Belladonna had wanted to marry Bungo under, and so much more, but he wanted to do it with no one able to see.

 

He wanted to be as invisible as the wind, and as light as it, too. So light that he wouldn’t even be a brush on one’s arm. But as Bilbo grew older, he realized that that meant that he would not even exist, because his presence would always be felt, if not by other hobbits, than by the grass under his foot and the dust on a book that he hadn’t picked up in some time. And after everything happened that would forever be the most interesting thing about him, he gave up his impossible wish of being invisible, because if his parents were invisible and dead (well, dead they were, but invisible was the question), well, it was quite cruel.

 

And Bilbo Baggins was not cruel, but fussy, proper, and mourning.

 

.

 

The one day he both wished to be invisible and then stopped was easily the worst of Bilbo Baggins’ life. Never had any day haunted him so. It was quiet and creeping, like the ice breaking during the first thaw of spring. But what a terrible thing to say after all was said and done, thought Bilbo, for spring had not come soon enough.

 

The Fell Winter was the worst the Shire had seen. The Party Tree’s limbs cracked under the pressure of oncoming snow, doors were sealed shut with snowmelt dripping into the foyer of dozens of smials through the wooden cracks. Gardens were left to fend for themselves, and even the strongest of oaks would succumb to the bitter cold.

 

(Not that Bilbo had been outside to see them fall, of course. Bungo would have had a fright and fuss and shove more logs into the perpetually-burning fire that had started the moment Belladonna shivered for the first time in October.)

 

But the worst didn’t reveal itself until a particularly adventurous (idiotic) pair, a Took and a Brandybuck, who happened to be Bilbo’s distant cousins, found that the Brandywine had frozen over after treading through the snow and missing four of seven meals. However, the worst wasn’t that the Brandywine froze- wolf prints permeated the untouched snow near the banks of the river, turning even the intrepid Took and dauntless Brandybuck back to Michel Delving to report their findings to the Mayor, who then sent the Took home to Tuckborough to tell the Thain, who happened to Belladonna’s brother, Isumbras.

 

What this meant was that for the first time in a long, long time, the Shire was to defend itself.

 

Days after the initial findings of wolf prints near the Brandywine River, they were spotted further inland by Proudfoots (or as they preferred to be called when mentioned as a group, Proudfeet). The poor family fled from their group of smials in fear of being eaten, and the Mayor called on relatives of the Proudfoot clan to host them until the wolves were driven off. Bilbo dusted and mopped a spare room for hours to satisfy Bodo Proudfoot and his aunt, Linda Baggins Proudfoot, and had hoped to find some peace (well, as much as he could, given the situation), when he overheard his parents, aunt, and Bodo.

 

“You’ve heard, then, that the Thain is calling on all male hobbits over 25 to bring out our sharpest knives and go after the wolves?” Bodo asked harshly, his lip curling up in disgust. Bilbo, and everyone with fully-functioning ears and eyes, knew how Bodo Proudfoot disapproved very much of Isumbras IV’s ascension to the title of Thain.

 

Bungo, looking at Belladonna worriedly, said, “Yes, I’ve heard. My sharpest knife was my mother’s. I don’t think she’d approve of running it through flesh. Might stain the silver.”

 

Linda nodded vigorously at the mention of their mother, agreeing with her elder brother, but Belladonna, the sole Took as of now in the esteemed hobbit-hole of Bag End, bless her brave heart, stood and eyed them all.

 

“Well, what do you suggest? Let the wolves run wild throughout the Shire? We must stop them. I can remove the stains, and together, we can get rid of those cursed wolves. But someone must stand up. My brother knows this as well as I, and I think you all do as well.” Belladonna whirled around, and Bilbo quickly dove back from the doorway to avoid getting caught. It was awfully rude to eavesdrop, this even his mother knew, despite not being the most proper of hobbits.

 

“You are right, of course, dear,” Bungo said, and Bilbo could hear the small, loving smile in his voice. But it hardened again, and Bilbo’s heart almost thumped too loudly in his ears to even hear his father’s next words. “I will answer to the call tonight.”

 

Bodo huffed, but also agreed to do the same. Linda nearly fainted at this, and Bilbo scrambled to get up and rush toward his room before the faint hobbit, with the assistance of Belladonna, went to rest in their spare room.

 

But Bilbo Baggins had already made a decision. He too would answer. He belonged with his father in this time of need, and at the young age of 25 years old, he would face the wolves.

 

.

 

There was never a time when this didn’t apply, but again, Bilbo must say it: practice never did quite compare to the real thing.

 

First of all, he’d thrown stones as a child, not knives. Scared off the birds and squirrels, he did, with stones. He and his Tookish cousins, along with a few Brandybucks and sometimes even another Baggins, liked to run off into the woods to play elves or dwarves. Mostly elves, though, with the occasional man. The Tooks had their own sets of bows and arrows, things Belladonna and Bungo were adamant on keeping away from Bilbo, although Belladonna only for the reason that he had no reason to hunt as a Baggins of Bag End (she so hated the thought of harming animals after an especially gory scene from her own childhood), and Bungo because he was a Baggins of Bag End, and it was not proper to wield bows and arrows like men or elves. And both thought him to be too clumsy, with his stubbed toes and bark-reddened skin.

 

But the fact of the matter was that while he certainly had impressive aim, he had no experience with weapons of any sort. Knives had only ever been used for food, as they should be, because wolves should have never been in the Shire in the first place, as was Bilbo’s firm belief.

 

And that was not even the meat of it. Experience was nothing if one did have bravery, and Bilbo Baggins was surely shaking in his metaphorical boots, knees knocking together and toes curling into the snow. Bungo had disapproved, even tried to send him back to Bag End, but he was adamant on staying with his father. Belladonna watched with a teary eye from the doorway as both father and son went off to heed the Thain’s call for arms.

 

At the meeting place just outside of Hobbiton, Proudfoots and Chubbs, Tooks and Brandybucks, Gamgees and Goodchilds alike met, along with many more. Most were unhappy at the lateness of the hour (missing supper was not an ideal situation for anyone), and brought torches. Bilbo was not the only one with twitching fingers at his belt, where three silver knives were fastened at his waist.

 

The only thing that could give him solace amongst the mass of shivering hobbits was the full moon, bright and calm, hanging in the sky like the lanterns set out on Litheday. But it was not solace that he would receive from the moon after what took place that evening.

 

The Thain led them back toward the Proudfoot smials, and as they marched, they heard them at the edge of the woods. Isumbras Took IV was a bold hobbit normally, but boldness did not always translate into bravery, and he quickly ordered all hobbits to hide. Bilbo was swept away from Bungo in the madness of scrambling hobbits and he hid behind a trellis with what he presumed to be a Gamgee, as he could feel a garden spade pressing into his back as he breathed in dead leaves and cold wood.

 

“Is that you, Mister Bilbo?”

 

Bilbo started at the voice, and almost smiled in recognition of the Old Gaffer himself. At least there was a friendly soul beside him, not that the other hobbits were unpleasant company, but this was the Baggins family gardener, someone Bilbo had grown up knowing his entire life.

 

“Hamfast!” Bilbo nearly embraced the gardener, but decided against it when he heard the other’s breath catch.

 

“It’s not safe for you here. You shouldn’t have to see any of this,” Hamfast whispered, eyes wild and scared for him. Bilbo sighed, knowing just what Hamfast and even his father thought of him out here: a child.

 

“I’m nearly an adult, and I want to defend the Shire from danger just as much as the next hobbit,” said Bilbo, swallowing thickly and blinking away tears of frustration. But then he stiffened, and an overwhelming feeling of shame ran through him. He nearly cursed himself at his self-absorbedness. This was no time to think about himself! It did not matter what his father thought of him now, it mattered whether he could truly help to ward off the wolves. Despite the fact that no one, not even Hamfast, could see his tears, he felt hot, burning humiliation on his cheeks, and never had he wanted to be invisible more in his entire life.

 

 _Selfish, utterly selfish,_ Bilbo thought to himself, and he steeled his body against the cold in an attempt to wash away his previous thoughts.

 

It was dreadfully silent for a moment, or perhaps a forever that ended too soon to be enjoyed, when a scream pierced the night, and suddenly, Hamfast was gone from his side, and everything started happening at once.

 

Bilbo, following the waves of fellow hobbits, rushed toward the tree line, hands hovering over the knives at his belt. More screams rang out, and he finally pulled one out and rushed blindly, relying on the other hobbits behind him to keep pushing him forward else he’d drop to his knees and beg Yavanna to help her children.

 

Just a few feet more and for the first time, Bilbo saw the wolves. Looking ferocious despite their distance from him, he quivered at the sight, but seeing the others aim their knives at the beasts spurred him to do the same. He reared back and followed instinct- all hobbits were born uncanny marksmen.

 

A barrage of kitchen knives flew at the wolves. They ran and howling with each step, they angrily charged the hobbits at the front. More screams were heard, and Bilbo looked around for his father while gripping his other knife tightly in his hand. He broke away from the rush forward and started down the lane of Proudfoot smials that a few other hobbits had began to spread to. At the end was a group, and all were circled around a large black wolf.

 

Bilbo ran to help them, and they quickly let him into the circle as they all stabbed at the wolf, which barked furiously and bit at their small hands. One hobbit, a Chubb, gasped as the wolf managed to scrape his arm with its teeth, and Bilbo, in a state of dreamlike horror, managed to plunge the knife deep into the wolf’s chest. The others backed away as the wolf whimpered and fell to the ground, writhing in pain, and Bilbo was faintly aware of his wide eyes and mouth, before he knelt before it and took out the knife, knowing that keeping the knife in would only cause the wolf to suffer more at his hands.

 

The black wolf contrasted sharply with the white snow, but it allowed Bilbo to see the numerous wounds the wolf had received from their knives. Blood pooled around its prone body, and as Bilbo went to touch his head, feeling pity and sadness and even regret, the wolf snapped at him, and he fell back into the snow in surprise. He scrambled to get up, but by the time he did, the wolf had already passed, the light from the moon reflecting from the dull, lifeless eyes.

 

“Mister Bilbo,” one of the hobbits said, one of two who stayed nearby while the others ran off to fight more. “Are you all right, lad?”

 

He turned around to face an ashen-looking Cotton, who he knew to live in the village of Bywater, only a few minutes away from Hobbiton. Bilbo couldn’t bring to speak, so he hoped his short, stuttered nods would suffice. The elder hobbits looked at him as if he were glass, and he waved them off to help the others so he could collect himself.

 

But there wasn’t much time for that. Snarls and shouts came from the left of him, and more hobbits rushed past, not paying any mind to the poor young Baggins lad standing next to the corpse of a mutilated black wolf with glassy blue eyes. He was fine with that, though, because not even he wanted to see what he looked like now. If a mirror was placed in front of him, he was sure he looked as if he’d seen the end of the world.

 

And in a way, he had.

 

But time never stopped for anyone, and Bilbo, despite knowing that the wolf could have killed them, still mourned for the loss of life. _This was why hobbits shouldn’t fight,_ he thought. Violence was so foreign to them, to him. He wondered if anyone else felt the same. But if they did, they certainly hid it better than him. Again, the inklings of shame rose within him, and he ran to help before he could wish to be invisible again, because invisibility and the thought of running off to find his father and then hide in the woods was beginning to sound more and more tempting.

 

He never wanted to be a Took more than now, because the Baggins in him demanded to march back to Bag End, wolves and all, just for a small taste of the comfort of his home once more. But he still kept running to assist, feet pounding the powdery snow into the cobblestone beneath, and just as soon he skidded to a stop beside one of his neighbors on Bagshot Row, he thrust out his bloodied knife, nicking the wolf in the shoulder. The wolf bared its teeth, growling, and jumped up at Bilbo.

 

“Look here, you mangy dog!” his neighbor yelled, but the wolf paid no mind. It didn’t matter to Bilbo, though, for he already had another knife in his empty hand, and he managed to slip one between the howling wolf’s ribs. Gripping his last knife tightly, he shuddered at the sight of yet another wolf before him, on the ground and dying. His neighbor already bolted, but with each breath Bilbo took, he felt more and more sluggish and disoriented.

 

He could smell the blood and he tipped his head to look at the moon and stars to clear his mind. Their silvery white purity was a welcome sight in the middle of the stained snow on which he stood, barefooted and trembling. His heart had begun to slow when he first lifted his gaze to the trees, and it waltzed eerily upon the second he caught the moon in his widened eyes.

 

A breath escaped his lips, a puff of air floating upward slowly, and as he felt his mind wander with the wind that took it away from him, everything came back in shouts and footfalls. Bilbo looked to his knife, to his feet, to the snow, then ahead, and propelled himself back into the fray of the fight, running toward the trees.

 

He jumped over wounded hobbits and dead wolves, landing heavily on his bruised soles, but still kept going, kept moving leg by leg forward because even though Bilbo could easily keep running until he reached the sea, leagues away and but a memory of a story once told to him by Belladonna, he wouldn’t disappear into the welcoming pines and oaks. He would be strong and steadfast, and he would return to Bag End in the morning with Bungo and perhaps after resting for a day or two, everything would be back to normal, and maybe then he would wish for forever-plentiful harvests, the feeling of having enough food in their soft bellies, and blossoming gardens, just like the others. He would give up being invisible for being normal, because he was damn sure anything was better than the sight of violence and blood around him.

 

But alas, Bilbo thought in a daze, as he found his father, it was not meant to be. He never wanted to be seen again, again. For his father’s head rolled on the ground past his blue feet, desperation and fear etched permanently upon Bungo’s once warm but fussy face, and Bilbo knew that he didn’t want to be the one to tell Belladonna.

 

He would have to, though. He chose to fight. They both did, and one paid dearly. They all did, all who chose to heed the Thain’s call, but Bilbo could not blame them. He wanted to defend the Shire, prove he was an adult, but not at this cost.

 

Invisibility could not fix this, and with a choked sob threatening to break the surface, Bilbo knew he had to face the music, even if it meant killing the part of himself that brought him into this mess in the first place- his stupid, noble heart. 


End file.
